Things You Learned the Hard Way

I turn 50 in a few days, and my friends have been asking me (as friends will do), “What do you want to do for your birthday?”

Up until last week, every time someone asked me that question I spontaneously burst into tears. The idea of turning 50 has felt awful to me. I guess this 50-year mark says something to me like, “You’re definitely more than halfway done. Dude, nobody lives to 100.”

Both of my maternal grandparents passed away in 2016, leaving me feeling untethered. My grandma Izzy and Grandpa Kenny were sparkling lights in my world that some part of me could not imagine ever flickering out. Even though, of course, I knew they would not live forever, somehow, as long as they were alive, I didn’t have actual confirmation that death was inevitable for EVERYONE.

While I certainly hope to be the first person to live to 120 and still be running races up until the very last moment, I know it’s unlikely… Okay, it’s improbable… Fine, it’s impossible (maybe?).

So as I approached 50, I’ve been feeling what I guess is existential angst—a real phenomenological downer.

But then a few mornings ago I remembered something one of the amazing authors in our Memory into Memoir program said to me once, and I had an idea.

A few weeks ago, after I led Barbara and two of our other authors in a critique session, Barbara said to me, “I need to offer some feedback about our last small group critique meeting. It’s not a big deal, but I promised myself several years ago that when I had something to say I would say it.” I was so struck by that simple statement. Struck by the idea that somewhere along the line, somehow, Barbara had learned to speak what she thought—just because she knew it was something that SHE needed to say (let’s just say it: lots of women never do this, and I’m plenty guilty of swallowing my words when they out to come out of my mouth). Wow, I thought, I wonder what taught her that lesson? I’ll bet there’s a story behind that decision.

When Barbara said this to me, I made a mental note to someday ask her how she learned speaking her mind is non-negotiable for her. I’m going to bet it was a lesson learned through trial and error—some long journey with lots of twists and stops along the way. Maybe trauma.

If Barbara tells me her story (will you, Barbara?), I thought, I can learn the same lesson without—you know—going through whatever hard thing taught it to her. In fact, wouldn’t it be great if we could learn important stuff through listening to one another’s stories? You KNOW I believe we can! That’s why I became a therapist in the first place. (What? You think I just wanted to help people? Sure I did, but I want to learn from them, too.) Being with other people’s stories is why I coach writers, too. I LOVE stories. And I ABSOLUTELY BELIEVE they change us.

So here’s what I want for my birthday, friends:

YOUR WISDOM!!!!

I want your wisdom, and I want to know how you got that wisdom. I want to know the things that you learned the hard way. Here’s the deal, you write your story and the moral of your story in the comments underneath this post. The stories and the bits of wisdom that strike me the most (the ones that inspire me, make me laugh, make me cry, or make me go, “well, sh!t, I never thought of that”), I’m going to put up here as posts of their own. (I’m happy to add your website, your bio, and a plug for anything that you’re peddling if you want me to—or if you don’t care about peddling anything, I’ll just give you credit for being a really smart person.)

These lessons don’t have to be deep, deep, deep. They just need to be relevant to your life, something you think other people should know. They can be drop dead serious lessons about relationships or they can be how you learned not to buy cheap shoes. They can be lessons about how you learned to take care of the earth or how you learned to take care of frizzy and uncontrollable hair. I welcome lessons about running, writing, traveling, dogs, wine and whiskers on kittens—some of my favorite things. I also welcome lessons about how to get stains out of silk blouses. Or how to keep from falling in with bad characters at your favorite karaoke bar. Or how to stop smoking (even though I don’t smoke I think the lesson could be transferable to something else, don’t you?) REMEMBER, TELL THE STORY AND THE LESSON! USE AS MANY WORDS AS IT TAKES.

When the year is over, I’m going to put all my favorite stories of wisdom-gotten-the-hard-way together into a daybook. It’ll be a great gift for your other friends as they turn 50. Or 60. Or 70. Or… 120. You don’t need to be a great writer, by the way. I’ll clean up your punctuation and grammar for you without judgment. In fact, upload a video if that’s more your style.

This series is called: What I Learned the Hard Way.

So I’ll start with one of my own lessons, something I learned the hard way. Something I hope you can learn from me and never have to learn yourself. And then you jump in in the comments below.

What I learned the hard way is not to run across railroad tracks with a train oncoming.

Oh, sure, you think you already know this, don’t you? I thought I knew it too, but heat and fatigue and living in the bubble of silence one experiences when one is in a country where no one speaks your language can temporarily make you forget what your mother taught you when you were five.

I was in Japan. Summer is hot in Japan. More than hot, summer in Japan is you-wish-you-never-had-to-wear-clothes muggy and oppressive. I was taking a two-day trip out of Tokyo to visit some shrines.

Shrine number one on my list was in Taga Taisha, where the spirits of the world’s co-creators Izanami no Mikoto and her husband/brother Izanagi reside. One has to travel off the beaten track and outside of the realm of bi-lingual signs in train stations to get to Taga Taisha. I did so successfully, and then…

After visiting the shrine, I took the return train, which on the map I had looked like it should go in the direction of my hotel all the way to my final destination. Halfway there, the conductor stopped at a platform in the middle of nowhere and turned off the engine. I stayed on the train, thinking maybe he was just taking a smoke break, but he turned toward me (stupid gaijin), shooed me off, and then closed the door behind me.

In the hot mosquito air outside on the lonely quay, I wiped sweat from my face and wondered what I should do.

Only a few travelers and one or two employees were on the platform with me. I tried to decide who to approach and finally settled on the only person who was willing to look in my direction—a middle-aged man wearing slacks and a white button-up shirt with a tie. Through gesture and much following around of this kind fellow so he could look at a schedule and a map, I eventually understood that I had to cross the tracks to a different platform to catch my train back to my hotel. Apparently (don’t ask me how I figured this out), the LAST train was the NEXT train. I looked down the track and saw it coming slowly into the station at that very moment.

And I panicked. I had to hotfoot it across the tracks if I didn’t want to get stranded all night in… where was I? Already perspiring from every pour in my body, I sprinted down the platform, leapt off the edge onto the tracks and dashed across—without much more ado than an “arigato” to the man who had directed me to the right train.

I did this without any fear that the oncoming train would beat me to the platform because it was moving at a snail’s pace into the station. What I didn’t count on was that on my way up the cement stairs to get into the queue on the other side of the tracks, I would fail to lift my foot high enough to clear the uneven step and would slam down hard into the concrete, cracking my left shin against the stairs and twisting my left foot into an impossible position beneath my body as I fell.

But the train was at hand now and, even though I was in instant and tremendous, throbbing pain, I needed to get out of the way–and onto that train. Pulling myself fully onto the lowest step in a sitting position, I tenderly extracted my foot from underneath me, held in my tears, and surveyed the damage. A huge goose egg about four inches in length had already formed on my shin. And blood trickled from the scrape down toward my quickly swelling ankle.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the man nearest me on the platform, a fellow wearing a blue suit and carrying a briefcase, was distinctly averting his eyes. The three or four other people in line on the platform were gathering their things and getting ready to board the approaching train. No one offered to assist me or proffer a tissue in my direction to help me clean up the blood (let’s give them all the benefit of the doubt and say they were saving face for someone they thought of as an obvious nincompoop). I was on my own to get myself to a standing position and to hobble onto the train.

The best I could, I limped into the nearest car, sat down, and rummaged through my backpack for a Wet One so I could dab at the wound, now very grateful I hadn’t missed my last ride to air conditioning.

And do you know what? While I heaved a sigh of relief to have made the train… a minute passed. And then another. And then several more. I discovered what the other people in line already knew: that train wasn’t scheduled to move forward for at least 10 more minutes!

That’s right, my friends, I would have had time to walk to the OTHER end of the platform and cross the tracks properly by means of the footbridge inside the station. I need not have risked life and limb to catch the damn thing. I could have lollygagged over to the other platform without shaming myself and setting in motion what would turn into two-years of chronic pain on my left side (plantar fasciitis, constant cramping in hamstring, and—most recently—hip pain).

What I learned (and what I try to practice now in all issues mundane or serious) is that urgency is never the best energy out of which to solve a problem because urgency CREATES more problems than it solves. Advice to self: Slow down and think through your options—even when it looks like the last train is going to leave you behind.

YOUR TURN. WHAT HAVE YOU LEARNED THE HARD WAY AND HOW DID YOU LEARN IT?

18 Comments

Glynn on May 1, 2017 at 3:13 pm

I love this! You inspire me to write my story! Happy 50th (soon) I have good news for you- the 50’s are the BEST!!! Love from Morocco. See you soon!

Cami Ostman on May 1, 2017 at 3:24 pm

Hope you’re having a great time Glynn. Let’s celebrate when you’re back. xoxo

50+ is good! I’m not sure about 60 yet. But what a great story! It was very courageous of you to wander off the beaten track there, and while you might have saved yourself some pain if you had known the train would not be leaving immediately, what if it were intending to pause, grab people, and move on? That platform doesn’t sound like a great place to spend a night. You did what you had to with the knowledge you had. And yet, hindsight is often our friend.

Cami Ostman on May 1, 2017 at 5:29 pm

Thanks Sean. What did you learn the hard way? I know you have some stories to tell.

Barbara Clarke on May 1, 2017 at 6:59 pm

Happy Birthday, dearest Cami. At my age, I might have said to the guy in the suit – what’re you looking at? How about giving me a hand here. Or not. You made it and you lived to tell the story – a good one at that! Hugs for your birthday and any other day you might like or need one.

Cami Ostman on May 1, 2017 at 7:36 pm

Indeed Barbara. I wanted to ask for help, but then I remembered I don’t speak Japanese!

I’ve always been a “good kid.” I don’t know if it was my Christian upbringing or something inherently in my DNA or what, but I was known as the “good kid.” People could count on me to show up on time, do the job (usually not very good – but I tried) and just be a decent human being.

I didn’t really have the overall right to be a good kid. A child of divorce, a step-father I didn’t get along with, an absentee father (living in Japan – about as absent you can get) who rarely, if ever, interacted with me. Moves from Los Angeles to Ballard to the suburbs, etc. I could have pulled out any of those excuses as to why I didn’t “fit in.” Why I had “issues.” Why I struggled with my studies (I really didn’t – I just didn’t care all that much). Insert any of those and I could go off the rails and the juvenile authorities would all nod their heads and say: “Well, yeah, we can see why he took a bad path. Why he made the wrong choices. Why he’s a troublemaker. I mean, he lived in BALLARD!” But, yeah, not so much.

Now, before I get too far into the weeds here, it wasn’t that I was a perfect kid – far from it. I put slugs (pounded out pennies) into pinball machines to get free games. My friend and I shop-lifted a six pack of beer once. Another friend used to grow pot in his attic (though I never tried it). My girlfriend and I fooled around a little too much and got in trouble for it. But…but…inside, deep down inside I was always the “good kid.”

–

My mother practically lives at church. When we moved to the suburbs we found an Episcopal church called “St. Davids” and started attending. Soon after I was there, I had become smitten with a teenage girl slightly older than me and had become fast friends with a few others. It was, surprisingly, a strong youth group for such a small church.

Part of being in the youth group, though, was helping with the services as acolytes. As an acolyte, you got to walk with the cross or candles or hang out at the altar and help the priest if he needed anything. It was a pretty good gig and it helped break-up the boredom of a typical Sunday service. Plus, SHE was an acolyte and if I could hang out with her more and help – all the better.

Once we were trained and on the schedule, I was counted on to be there at church on the day I was supposed to be there and do what I was supposed to do. Simple. And, with the fact that my mom practically lived at the church, if the service started at 10 a.m., you can bet a wooden nickel that we’d be there at 9:45 (if not earlier).

This was good, especially if I was to acolyte that day because I could be there, ready to go, in my robes, cross in hand with plenty of time to spare.

But…this was also a problem. Because we had a relatively large youth group and because all of us teenagers were encouraged to be acolytes, pretty much everyone was an acolyte – but no one else gave a crap.

Time and time again, I’d be hanging out before the service and I’d get a tap on the shoulder: “Hey, Kevin isn’t here yet. Can you fill in for him?” “Matt, Joe’s running late, can you…?” “Service is about to start and Cheryl doesn’t appear to be here this morning. Can you…?”

First couple times, yeah, fine, good. But then, I started to resent it. I’d be up by the altar and at 10:05 here would come Kevin or Joe or Cheryl or whoever and I’d stew in my robe. This was especially frustrating when I wanted to sit in the congregation with HER but was stuck up by the altar and there Kevin would saunter in and sit with her. It was enough to make my blood boil. But I was a good kid. I had a job. I had a responsibility. That would bear out in some way, right? She’d find me more attractive, right? Because I was the responsible one. Certainly, Kevin or Joe or whomever would get a stern talking to after the service by the priest or their parent about the importance of being on time and fulfilling their obligation. That would all make it right…right? Certainly, I’d get an extra cookie at coffee hour and a pat-on-the-back and “good ol’ Matt, always coming through.” Certainly. Any time now. Any. Time. Now. SIGH.

As this happened time and time again, it was natural to just write off their behavior. “Well, you know, Kevin can’t get here on time. He lives so far away.” “Joe was at a blah-blah-blah so that’s why he’s running late.” “Kim’s car was having issues…” Whether these excuses were actual or not was not the point. The point being is that THEY WERE ON THE SCHEDULE – NOT ME! But look who’s doing it? ME! Look who’s sitting with her? NOT ME!

Then came the one Sunday morning where I was my typical way too early time. She was there early, too. I so wanted to sit with her. The conversation turned to her and she was having some issues and could I talk about it with her. “Well, church is starting in 15 minutes and I’m on the schedule to acolyte.” And…screw it.

Good ol’ Matt blew off church that morning and decided to walk with her to the local 7-11 about 8 blocks away. Let Kevin or Joe or Kim or Cheryl or whoever the hell was there, fill in. I had filled in for them more times than I could count, they could sure as hell fill in for me ONE TIME.

She and I talked all the way to 7-11 and all the way back and the fact that I was skipping church felt both wrong and right at the same time.

When we had returned to the church, it was about 10:15 and we slipped in and found a pew. Up by the altar Joe or Kevin or Kim or whoever was robed up and actually being an acolyte in my place and it felt kinda glorious.

After church, though, I was subject to not one or two but three “stern talking tos.” People were “worried.” I had “let them down.” They thought they could count on me. I had a responsibility that I didn’t follow-through on. My honest protestations fell on deaf ears. My arguments about how I was always the one to fill in for others when they blew off their responsibilities went in one ear and out the other. Message received and I hunkered down in my seat in the car – as Kevin or Joe or whomever got thanked for filling in for me.

Still…I got to spend time with her and that made it all worth it.

Lesson(s) learned? That if people expect certain things from you, even things that aren’t acceptable (being late, unable to follow-through, not being reliable) they’ll make excuses for you and rationalize that’s just who you are and give you a pass. If people figure they can count on you to show up on time, prepared, ready to go, focused and, for some reason you don’t, then you’re, pretty much, dead to them.

Cami Ostman on May 2, 2017 at 11:17 am

Ooohh!! I love this Matt. A few months ago, Liz Gilbert said, “What if you could stop trying to be good and could just focus on being FREE?!” Are you still the good kid sometimes or have you learned your lesson and now you live free (or a little of both)?

Brooke Warner on May 3, 2017 at 6:25 am

Mine is simple, Cami. I’m not going to tell a long story or why this idea has been reiterated to me this year in so many ways, but it’s an important insight Mark Nepo writes and talks about: All things are true. He says this in reference to our experience, of course, so I’m not talking about alt facts. But life is paradoxical. Contradictory feelings and experiences are par for the course. People’s reactions may surprise you in good ways and bad, but holding a wider frame helps you to realize that there’s no right interpretation of events. We each bring our layered perspectives and experiences to the table every day, so honoring each other and forgiving each other is the work I’m doing this year, and the wisdom I’m offering here. Happy birthday, friend.

Cami Ostman on May 3, 2017 at 7:29 am

Bless you Brooke. This last year I finally read Conversations with God and the comment that people operate in ways that are consistent with their view of the world REALLY struck me. I think it’s related to what you’re saying here. Thank you for the gift of your wisdom in my life. xoxo

I love this birthday wish. This is a hard present to give to someone who is such a great teacher to so many, since what can I say that you don’t already know or taught a class about! But here goes: I learned the hard way that I rarely get to decide when something ends. I only get to decide what I do with that ending. I think that is true about life and quite a few stories. Happy birthday, and thank you for the task of thinking about this response! XO

I grew up in a conservative Christian community (Jehovah’s Witnesses). Now that I’m 20 years out of the church, I can see the dysfunctional and unhealthy things about that part of my life, but there are also things that I miss terribly. On top of the list of Things I Miss: The ready-made community of family and friends, all on the same page, all working toward the same goal. That felt good.

My parents and siblings were part of that community, of course. There were all the families that I saw at our three-times-weekly meetings. Once a week, we attended a study group in the home of another family. After those meetings, snacks would sometimes be served, kids would play in the back yard, and many would stick around long after the study was ended, just for the enjoyment of each other’s company and conversation.

Beyond that, I had friends my age, friends that I had known literally since birth. Those people were deeply embedded in my life and in my heart: We dropped by each other’s houses unannounced, we went on vacations together, we asked each other for advice, we comforted each other through tragedies and illnesses. We talked on an almost daily basis. Those relationships were profoundly meaningful to me, and I believed that those people would be in my life until death.

The time came, however, when my own worldview diverged too far from that of the church, and I felt compelled to leave. I reached out to each of my closest friends to explain my decision, and to let them know that I still loved them and wanted to remain close. Although the official stance of the JW church is to shun baptized members who leave (or who are ejected because of some serious “sin”), I somehow believed that these *particular* relationships were strong enough to withstand this seismic shift. I believed that my friends loved me too much to let me go that easily.

As any outside observer could have predicted, I was utterly wrong about that. Not only did I lose every single one of my closest friends, I eventually lost my family as well. And of course the wider community of JW believers had no reason to defy the church hierarchy and risk being shunned themselves. I was heartbroken.

Over the following years, I created a new community more in line with my personal orientation toward the world, and thought, “at last!” As it turned out, the politically-engaged Left is just as likely to shun someone for apostasy, which came as a surprise. That’s a story for another day.

Here’s what I learned: Relationships based primarily on an ideology are unstable and conditional. It’s to be expected that your beliefs about the world will change as you have more experience with it; that is normal and healthy and the way it *should* work, it seems to me. But if you are connected to people primarily on the basis of your current beliefs… be prepared to lose those relationships when you evolve.

JuliaB on May 10, 2017 at 1:55 pm

What a beautiful Birthday wish….brilliant in it’s simplicity.

Speaking personally…it is usually a tall order for me…to be vulnerable and open enough to ask for help…as my ego always replies…”NO” under “NO” circumstances are you to show weakness.

I strongly agree with Barbara’s insight! I can not even count how many times I held my truth out of fear of rejection and the result usually ending in resentments of myself and others.

At 51 I am growing a beautiful and inspiring daughter and FINALLY learning to TRUST in my AUTHENTIC self… here are a few of the thoughts I have shared with her…

(A) ASK…the worst that will happen is the answer will be NO.

(B) All I ask is…try it once. How will you know if you like it if you don’t try it just once?

(C) No matter what…there is a GIFT in every experience and it usually takes time to truly understand it’s value.

In the end, it is really very simple…whatever choice you need to make, action you are asked to take or question you might ask yourself.

…Always go with the one that feels the must “HONEST” and true for you. If it feels forced, just not right or it’s intentions feel purposely manipulated in any form…it is never the best choice! No matter how easy it seems at the time.

“TRUST” in your authentic truth…because in “TRUTH” is the only place we get to express and experience the magic of true freedom!

Cami Ostman on May 10, 2017 at 3:13 pm

Thank you Julia! One of my guiding mottos has been: I’ll try anything once. While this has led me to eating a number of things that still disturb me when I think about them, it has also led to some wonderful experiences and even some new habits (like running). Thank you for your wisdom!

Jennifer Wilke on May 13, 2017 at 12:53 pm

Something I learned the hard way: Stay in sight of shore & heed my elders. One winter in Alaska, my job gave me the exciting chance to visit a dozen rural Alaska villages over several continuous weeks. Our three-person team would land in a village, do some work at the school for one or two days, then fly on to the next village. I was proud of myself for being an Alaskan well-prepared for this adventure. Every time we stepped into the small plane, I wore enough clothing to stay alive on the ground if I survived a forced landing or a plane crash. I had protein bars tucked into the inner pockets of my down parka. My thick wool mittens, face mask and insulated boots were impervious to below-freezing temperatures. All went as expected the first day. The second day we had great weather, our young pilot was enthusiastic, and we took off without worry. The turbulence over the ocean grew worse and worse, though—on a clear day!—until I turned green. I was most grateful to discover that even small planes have barf bags tucked into the back of the seats. Grateful to land, I had to lie down for several hours to regain my equilibrium. My mom had suggested I take Dramamine with me on this trip, so I had brought some but had ignored it. From that bilious day on, I took a Dramamine tablet one-half hour before every flight, and ate nothing. We had different pilots every day, and every flight from then on was smooth as silk. At our final destination, I climbed out of the plane and joined our last pilot, a quiet, elderly gentleman, on the walk across the tarmac. I thanked him for the smooth flight and told him about the nauseating experience at the start of our travels. He said he’d heard there was a new kid flying that route, too new to Alaska to know that a straight line across open ocean on a cloudless day was always a bad idea. The wiser course, the old pilot said, was to stay in sight of shore. You lose a little time, but nobody gets sick. I framed that empty Dramamine packet, as a reminder to heed guidance from the elders and stop wasting time expecting the worst!

Cami Ostman on May 13, 2017 at 2:48 pm

Ah ha! That’s great advice, Jennifer!!! And I love how you are always dressed for whatever may come your way!

Cami Ostman on May 13, 2017 at 2:57 pm

Heartbreaking and tragic lesson, J. And one that’s been hard for those of us who love you to watch. So painful that relationships have their limitations unless everyone evolves together.